The Rock
by JustMakeLeftTurns
Summary: OC-centric. Connecticut has always been New York's rock, from the Revolutionary War to 9/11.


I'm completely oblivious to what goes on anywhere outside the internet, so this is not based off of how the actual states act towards each other. If it's right on, great. If not, oh well. It's fanfiction. Also, probably not historically accurate.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. I only own my OC's New York and Connecticut.

* * *

_Revolutionary War_

New York stood horrified at the edge of the battlefield. They were losing. And it hurt. It hurt so much. Those damn redcoats. He tried to help, tried to save the poorly-equipped men who fought for America, for him. But he was just one man, just one state.

Where the hell was America when he needed him? New York, his physical age only in his early teens, couldn't fight alone. He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know how to protect his citizens. He felt like a failure.

It wasn't fair that America was helping out DC. It wasn't fair that New York was left on his own. It wasn't fair at all.

The general called a retreat. New York glared in the direction of the redcoats before following his people, knowing when to back down. Once at safety, he looked at who was left. Not many men, considering how many there had been to start with.

New York ignored his injuries and slipped away, falling to his knees and gripping the grass beneath him. He bowed his head, matted brown hair covering his blue eyes. He was a failure. A horrible excuse for a state. He wondered how angry America would be.

A hand on his shoulder startled him. He looked up at a young man … wait, no, it was Connecticut, his sister, one of a few states who had to look like men in order to fight in the war. New York opened and closed his mouth a few times, willed his voice to work, but all that came out were a few sobs.

Connecticut, with her brunette hair cut short and her gray eyes hardened by the war, knelt beside her brother and held him to her chest. Although barely a teenager herself, she knew that her brother needed comfort more than she. As long as America was busy with the big battles, she would be the rock New York needed.

New York sobbed into her chest. Connecticut held him tightly. No words needed to be said.

* * *

_Civil War_

New York couldn't bear it. He hated how he had to fight his brothers and sisters. He hated how he had to fight at all. But he would. He had to be strong, had to support the Union. He was by no means the leader of the northern states, but with America out of commission – civil wars were not friendly to any nation, he'd learned – someone had to step up. New York was more or less forced into that position.

With every failed battle, with every man killed, New York wanted to kill himself. He was hurting his sisters, his brothers, and America – his father-slash-brother figure. New York did his best, but some of the other states didn't see it that way. He just wanted the war to end. He wanted them all to be a family again.

He hated himself for his poor fighting skills. He hated himself for not being braver, stronger, better. He hated how he felt that way, for other states certainly had it worse.

But he still cried. The young man, physically in his mid-teens, curled up in a ball in his house and sobbed his heart out, wishing that America would help, wishing that the war would end.

Connecticut, once more disguised as a man, came to him and held him tightly against her chest while he cried. She rocked him but didn't speak, didn't hush him; she just let him cry. She, too, wanted to cry but she had to be the rock for her brother, for who else would?

* * *

_9/11_

New York screamed and yelled and cried. He hadn't felt this much pain in so long. His people, his citizens, were dying, crying, hurting, screaming, and he couldn't do a single thing to help. He watched from several blocks away as his towers – the beautiful Twin Towers – collapsed. He, too, collapsed onto the street, ignoring the smoke, ignoring the bystanders. It hurt, so very much.

America wasn't there, as usual. He usually spent time living out west if he wasn't in DC. And if anything was threatening America as a whole, Alfred would be at the capital, leaving New York on his own.

New York stayed where he was, even whilst his citizens fled the scene or tried to get closer for a better look. He knelt in the middle of the sidewalk, hands over his ears in a fruitless attempt to block out everything. He hunched over, trying to protect himself, but protecting his body is not the same as protecting his state, his people.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, bawling his eyes out, in pain and hatred at both whoever had done this criminal act as well as at himself. He was a failure. He still couldn't protect his people. But he'd be damned if he let the criminals get away with it.

Just like always, Connecticut appeared and held him tightly against her chest. Her long hair draped over him as she wrapped herself around New York, as if trying to protect him from any more pain.

"It hurts," New York croaked, sobbing hysterically into his sister's chest.

"I've got you," Connecticut said firmly. "I'm not letting go. I'm here. I've got you."

I'll never let you go.


End file.
